Beneath the Ivy

Jack strode up an overgrown path away from the park as though relishing a mission
through the jungle, dodging the occasional stinging nettle with an effortless skip or jump.
“Come on, Luca. This is going to be epic!” Dipping his head and swiping away leaves like
some intrepid explorer, he manoeuvred under a tree branch, which hung over the narrow
track.
Luca dawdled behind. Only a few minutes earlier, he had been perfectly happy practising
his limited gymnastics moves upside down on the monkey bars. Now, he was torn between
making the effort to keep up with his friend and deliberately getting left behind.
“Speed up – we’re nearly there!” Jack called eagerly over his shoulder.

What can you tell about Jack’s personality? Explain your answer.
Which boy is which? How do you know?
Luca wasn’t at all sure that they should be leaving the park swings, where they had been
allowed to hang out without their parents since both recently celebrating their eleventh
birthdays in the same week. He was even less sure that he wanted to be venturing towards
‘The Top End’, as everyone called that part of the park grounds. He spun round to look
behind him. The monkey bars were now way out of sight and the watery evening sun above
was being muscled out of position by ever-darkening shades of grey, layering over each
other in the sky like a collage.
“Maybe it’s getting too late for today. We could go another day,” Luca suggested hopefully.
He looked down towards his watch. Scowling at the time – 10:31 – he shook his wrist
vigorously. Clearly, the watch wasn’t working, as it was only just beginning to go dark. He
was going to need a new excuse. “Why don’t we come back tomorrow, when it’s lighter? I
think it’s going to rain, from the look of those clouds, and Dad’s making bolognese for tea.
We don’t want to miss that!”
Being two days older than his friend clearly gave him no superiority at all.

Can you find an example of a simile?

“Forget about your stomach for a minute! I can see the scaffolding through this gap!”
enthused Jack, trampling undeterred over the thorny undergrowth.
Luca followed him unhappily along the gradually dwindling path. Hands up in front of
himself and elbows tucked in, he was now having to place his trainers precisely onto
prickly stems to pin them down with his soles and avoid any contact with his bare arms or
legs.
On the other side of a tangled row of bushes, the broken-looking building loomed.
Fifty-foot-high scaffolding encased the crumbling walls of Cogston House like a rusty
exoskeleton. The long, metal poles, bolted together at regular right angles, seemed as
though they were the only things keeping the whole house from falling apart.
About a hundred years ago, the house had apparently been quite a grand sight, belonging to
a rich family who owned the entire park. Until about thirty years ago, it had still been
inhabited but, for decades now, it had wasted away, shedding scraps of brickwork and
hiding itself under a cloak of creeping ivy. Even from the outside, it had a look of being
infested with sadness.

What do you think ‘undeterred’ means?

Everyone had a story about Cogston House. No one quite knew what was true and what
was rumour, and Luca didn’t want to stick around to find out.
“Ow!” he squealed, as Jack reached back and hauled him through the gap he had just made
in the twisted greenery. Luca rubbed at a fresh, pale scratch on his arm.
Unconcerned, Jack stood triumphantly, his hands on his hips, admiring the enormous
house. His eyes swept over the building as if they belonged to an ancient explorer who had
finally unearthed a once mythical monument.
“Told you it would be epic,” Jack grinned.
“Epic? Looks like it’s barely still standing up.”

How is Jack feeling? Find some evidence to explain your answer.

What impression do you get of Cogston House?
At home, Luca had heard his stepmum say that it was about time Cogston House was
renovated, and that it would be good for the area if it was properly restored with access
opened up again. In reply, his dad had said that it would be better to take a wrecking ball to
it, after everything that had gone on. Luca didn’t know exactly what ‘everything’ meant,
but he was now regretting mentioning the place at all to Jack.
The house had always been there, as long as both boys could remember, but it was just
somewhere that they had never visited. Of course, it had been Jack’s idea to go and
investigate, after Luca had brought it up that day at the swings. No doubt, Jack would know
some story about the place, and if he didn’t, he’d be making one up anyway.
“Have you heard the story of what happened to those two girls here?”
‘Right on cue,’ thought Luca. ‘Here it comes.’

What do you think Luca means by ‘Right on cue’?

“I heard it from my cousin’s next-door neighbour,” Jack went on. “Her mum knew one of
the girls from school, years ago, and her grandad worked in the factory that the Cogston
family owned.”
“What are you going on about?” Luca asked with a shake of his head, distracted by pulling
furry goosegrass buds from his shoulders.
Before an answer came, the crack of snapping wood grabbed Luca’s attention and he
looked up, eyes widening, to see Jack grinning back at him from a narrow doorway at the
side of the house. The splintered length of rotten wood in his hand matched a large panel,
daubed with graffiti, which hung limply at an angle where a proper door should have been.
“Come through here and I’ll tell you,” said Jack.

Can you find an example of onomatopoeia?

“Oh, I really don’t think we should be doing that,” Luca responded, looking around in
search of any other signs of life. He flicked a creepy-crawly from his arm with his finger
and rubbed frantically at a tell tale tickle on his head, which suggested that more critters
were making a new home in his hair. By the time that he’d dealt with them, Jack’s feet
were just disappearing after the rest of his body into the building.
A few raindrops were released from the bulging, grey clouds. Inside Luca’s head, a slow
drumbeat was gathering momentum and a voice was screaming at him to turn round, yet
his dry mouth barely let out a murmur in protest. Inwardly, he wished that an invisible
force field would propel him backwards from the narrow opening in the doorway but,
instead, he swallowed hard and copied Jack’s crouching motion to squeeze through the
broken doorframe.

What can you tell about how Luca feels? Find some evidence.
Standing upright again inside, Luca looked around. The first thing that he noticed was the
stale air, which seeped into his mouth and nostrils. Repulsed by the mouldy stench that
hung in the atmosphere, he focused on inhaling through the tiniest slit in his mouth to
avoid breathing it in any more than he had to.
Beneath his feet, the floor was covered in rubble, like a building site, and dry leaves nestled
together in dirty piles, crunching when he trod on them. It was as though the outside had
crept inside. Huge rugs were spaced along the hallway, not laid flat or neatly, as they once
might have been – they were worn, crumpled, damp-smelling and thick with dirt. Luca
shuddered at the thought of how many tiny creatures were camping out among the fibres of
the threadbare material.
Looking up, he noted that every single window was cracked or broken. Spindly branches of
a yew tree scratched and tapped at one high window and, lower down, a cool breeze
whistled through a jagged hole, causing him to shiver.

Why do you think all of the windows were cracked or broken?

The hallway was darker than he would have liked. A lampshade dangled from the ceiling at
a crooked angle but there was no bulb. Instead, some light forced its way in through the
many dirty windows; some found an easier passage through small holes in the walls and
roof. Dust particles floated in the still air and there was just enough light to allow the boys
to see the shape of the hallway and the decrepit furniture.
All around them, items from the house’s former life still remained. Huge pictures in
decorative frames hung on the walls: portraits of miserable old men, which seemed to have
been painted in shades of only brown or beige. Although Luca could see the shadowy
outlines of doorways leading off from the hallway, the darkness swallowed up any objects
that lay farther down the corridor.
“Woah, look – a winding staircase!” Jack gasped, moving forwards through the blackness.
His voice rang through the house like a siren.

Find a word that means ‘worn out or ruined’.

Can you use a metaphor to describe this setting?
“What about it?” whispered Luca, gazing towards the gloom at the end of the hallway. The
skeletal remains of a chair sat solemnly in the corner, spilling out springy insides from
within a rotten frame. Its back was loosely attached to the rest of its body and one
splintered leg splayed out in an awkward fashion.
“Well, it’s just like in the story.”
“I still don’t know what story you’re going on about.”
Luca edged forwards gingerly, his steps short, until he was close enough to Jack to see him
clearly in the dim light. Jack was running his hand, fascinated, along the weathered,
wooden panels of an enormous staircase, which wound grandly up to yet more darkness.
As he turned back towards Luca, he began to recount his tale.

What kind of word is ‘solemnly’? What does it add to the sentence?

 Jack’s Tale
The house has not always been in this state. At the time when two girls, Alice and Eliza,
came in here to shelter from the rain, the Cogston family had not lived in the place for
years but a caretaker was still supposed to be looking after it. According to the story, he
was one of the old servants who just stayed on after everyone else had left or died.
Alice was the taller of the pair, and the more cautious; Eliza was always the adventurous
one. They were both well behaved in general, never looking for trouble or even
mischievous. They were, perhaps, just a little too nosy.
Back then, no walls were crumbling and no windows smashed. Everything was just still
and silent. It was as though whoever had lived there had just upped and left, one day. The
same gloomy-looking portraits lined the walls, watching everything that occurred beneath
them.

Why does the author say that the portraits were ‘watching’?
How could you describe these two girls to highlight their differences?
The girls explored a little inside, Alice following Eliza closely. They peered cautiously into
the downstairs rooms leading off the wide hallway, but neither dared to venture up the
spiral staircase. A fancy pair of chairs here, a mute grand piano there. In some way, the
eerie silence of the house demanded silence from them, too. Alice let Eliza lead the way,
trailing just a couple of soft steps behind.
After only a few minutes of exploring, swallowing gulps of thick, dusty air, Alice noticed
that they had gradually travelled a surprising distance from the big, heavy entrance door
behind them. Somehow, the house had enticed them deeper and deeper inside. As she
traipsed along behind Eliza, she realised that her feet were moving to a rhythm that had, so
far, escaped her notice. Steady and comforting, the girls were treading to a beat, like
soldiers marching in time with a drum. Alice snatched a piece of Eliza’s coat to stop her in
her tracks and stood silently, listening.
Tick.

Can you define ‘traipsed’? Can you walk in this way?

Though their feet were no longer moving, a beat continued. Straining to listen, the girls
cocked their heads and frowned at one another as the soft ticking of a clock reached their
ears.
Tick.
The noise followed them through the house, breaking the silence wherever they
investigated. As the sound of a swinging pendulum from one tall grandfather clock faded
away behind them, it was replaced by a wall clock in the next room.
Tick, tock.
The eerie sounds combined to make a strangely sinister clock chorus. Ageing grandfather
clocks stood proudly, evenly spaced on opposite sides along the hallway, like soldiers stiffly
standing guard. Each room had its own sentry, too, watching from a wall or mantel.
Tick, tock.

Why has the author started a new line for each ‘tick, tock’?
The volume of one mantelpiece clock rose slightly as Alice walked by, and slowly died
again as she left it behind. A nearby door, slightly ajar, allowed the resonance of another
clock to pick up the rhythm.
Alice’s footfalls had just begun to slip back into the soothing pulse of the ticking house
when her attention was drawn to the nearest, exquisitely polished timepiece.
She stopped. The realisation that invaded her mind made her stomach lurch unpleasantly.
All over the vast house, thick blankets of dust clung to every item of furniture – except for
the clocks.
Tick, tock.

Can you find an example of a metaphor?

Do you notice anything familiar about the time shown?
Alice ran a finger along the smooth edge of a beautifully ornate carriage clock, and found
not a scrap of dirt on its surface. She looked up at the filthy, mottled glass of the ground-
floor windows and then back at the gleaming, spotless face of the clock.
A few moments later, when both girls were back out on the main corridor, Eliza stopped
walking suddenly. She turned her head slightly to the left, listening hard. “Can you hear
that?” she whispered.
Alice stood still and silent for a moment, too. She looked back towards the staircase,
tracing the line of the banister with her narrowed eyes, squinting up towards the dark
vacuum above. In the inky blackness, it was impossible to focus her vision but, just for a
second, she had been sure that something had moved. Her mind swam with images of a
hunched, silhouetted figure hovering just beyond the last, barely visible step. Then, she
remembered that she was supposed to be listening.
“I don’t think I can hear anything,” Alice muttered.
“Exactly,” her friend agreed. “No ticking.”

Can you think of a synonym for ‘hunched’?

With a sudden shiver, Alice realised what Eliza was listening for – she hadn’t heard the
presence of something, farther away. She was listening for the absence of it, right beside
them.
Alice stood motionless, staring up at the nearest grandfather clock, the latest in a long line
of sombre watchmen standing against the dark, panelled walls. Despite no other signs of
life, the rest of the clocks had all been working. They were even, as far as Alice had
noticed, showing the correct time.
The one in front of them, right now, had stopped.
“10:31,” said Eliza, looking back at Alice over her shoulder. The clock was either three
hours ahead or nine hours behind the correct time. Eliza seemed to contemplate this for a
moment and then, just as suddenly as the clock had attracted her attention, she lost interest
and moved on down the hallway.

Find an example of a fronted adverbial.

Alice, meanwhile, stared up at the clock a little longer. Something about its silent presence
was strange, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. She placed one hand on
the frame and leaned closer. Turning her head, she pressed her ear against the polished
wooden panel, as though listening for a pulse. The silence of the house was deafening.
Seconds passed.
Without warning, an ear-splitting sound splintered the silence, like a pair of huge cymbals
being smashed by drumsticks. Alice’s vision went black.

Eliza had been creeping farther along the passageway when a horrendous noise startled
her. She spun round to find herself perfectly alone in an empty hallway. The house looked
exactly the same as it had a moment earlier – but Alice was nowhere to be seen.

What do you think is the purpose of the small picture of ivy

between paragraphs?
(In some stories, an asterisk (*) would be used for the same purpose.)
Eliza’s face contorted from confusion into panic. Her arms appeared frozen by her sides
but her hands began to visibly shake. All adventurous spirit whisked out of her, she
whispered meekly, “Alice?”
Whipping her body round to face the other way, she spoke again, this time louder and more
urgently.
“Alice!”
Eliza aimed her call, with increasing volume, in different directions. She dived in and out of
the nearest rooms, all efforts to be stealthy abandoned.
“Alice! Alice!”
Frantically, Eliza screamed Alice’s name again and again, fat tears forming in her eyes.
She took one more look from left to right and then darted down the hallway and out of
sight, back into the pouring rain.

How can you tell that Eliza is afraid? Find all of the evidence.
Why are these numbers written backwards?
Alice watched it all but could not speak.
Standing in almost complete darkness, her eyes strained to adjust. Directly in front of her
face, she could see through a murky, circular window. It was so close to the end of her nose
that the thick glass seemed to blur and distort the objects on the other side into gruesome,
deformed versions of themselves. She blinked rapidly as her befuddled brain pieced
together the picture in front of her.
She could see Eliza. Stretched and blurred by the small window, she was standing in the
corridor, just as she had been only a moment earlier. The walls of the hallway seemed to
curl sickeningly towards Alice at the top and bottom as she rolled her eyes around to test
the limits of her vision. There was a stuffy, musty smell around her and she reached up to
hold her nose…
Nothing happened. Alice’s hands didn’t appear in front of her. She focused hard on moving
her arms from where they hung by her waist, but it was as though they didn’t belong to her
any more. She was rigid, but for the swivelling of her wide, panicked eyes.

Why does the third paragraph end with an ellipsis (...)?

A cramped feeling began to smother her like a mass of vines and leaves wrapping around a
tree trunk. Cold beads of sweat formed on her forehead. She watched Eliza run from door
to door and heard her calling, “Alice! Alice!”
Opening her mouth wide, Alice screamed for her friend until her throat stung. She didn’t
need to see Eliza running away down the hallway to know that no sound had escaped from
her lips.
From her prison, she watched in silent horror. Eliza had fled from the house but Alice
couldn’t force her own mouth to open, let alone call her friend back. In front of her wide,
tear-filled eyes, on the other side of the brown glass, she could see a circle of numbers and
the old-fashioned hands of a clock. A short, stubby arrow pointed upwards and slightly to
the right; a thinner, more ornate bar hung down almost vertically.
From deep within her stomach, the desire to scream and wriggle and fight was burning like
a pilot light – but it was fighting with another feeling. A terrifying thought rose within Alice
as if it were freezing her from the feet upwards.

Find the simile in the first paragraph, and replace it with your own.
Eliza was gone. Now, she was completely alone. Trapped.
Nothing moved. Cogston House was as silent as the grave. Perhaps the only thing worse
than hearing her best friend desperately calling her name was being alone in this endless
quiet. Alice’s eyes searched through the darkness, scouring the corridor that faded into
more murky gloom. She could make out the hallway right in front of her, the door opposite
and, beyond it, the enormous winding staircase. As she looked, blinking through the tears
that had begun to stream hopelessly down her face, she was met with a sight at the top of
the staircase that all but turned her to stone...
Something was moving.
Alice watched numbly. Her heart was in her mouth and her breath came in sharp, rattling
gasps.

Count the sentences which have 3 words or fewer. What is their purpose?
Descending the stairs one careful, agonising, creaking step at a time, a hunched silhouette
shuffled out from the darkness. A small, extremely old man was moving slowly but
purposefully towards Alice. His head was bowed, showing a white, bald circle surrounded
by wisps of light grey hair.
“Help!” Alice tried to scream again, but nothing could be heard except for a strangled
silence. With no voice but the one inside her own head, she begged the stranger to notice
her and set her free...
A mottled, wrinkled hand reached forwards, holding a key.
A knot twisting in her stomach, Alice held her breath, staring down at the top of the man’s
head. There was a satisfying click as the key wriggled into place. Grinding and creaking as
it rotated, the key was wound once…
...twice…
...three times, a brief pause between each half turn.

What is the effect of the long list of adjectives in the first sentence?
With each rotation of the key, Alice felt her chest become tighter and her back straighten,
as though a puppeteer were tugging at invisible strings. Only her eyeballs scuttled from
side to side, like marbles being jiggled in a tiny box.
All of a sudden, everything was still once again – still, but not silent. Alice could hear a
pounding in her ears as her heartbeat became louder and more rhythmic. The thin sliver of
a third metal clock hand in front of her face had begun to move and, as the deafening
sound of her own heart ticking overwhelmed her, she had the chilling realisation that this
particular clock was no longer broken.
Tick, tock.

What do you think has happened to Alice?

What do you predict will happen next?
 Beyond the Silence
Luca stared in horror at Jack as his voice deliberately faded away for effect, mimicking
ticking sounds.
“What happened next?”
Jack smirked. “Who knows? That’s how the story goes. It’s probably just made up.”
“But the curved staircase, the hallway, the pictures! They’re all here, like you described.”
Luca’s head flicked from side to side, searching for more details to match the story. He’d
never felt totally convinced about coming into the house in the first place; now, he was
absolutely convinced that he wanted to leave.
The boys had not yet ventured beyond the bottom of the staircase, which opened out into
the centre of the hallway. Jack seemed pleased with himself as he sniggered and kicked at a
scattering of broken stones in front of his feet. Hands in his pockets, he wandered farther
into the grip of the building with nonchalance, as though strolling through his own house.

Why does Luca think that the story might be true?

Luca stood frozen for a moment and listened. He didn’t dare move for fear of preventing
himself from hearing a sound elsewhere.
At first, there was nothing. Then, as he cocked his head to one side for a better chance of
hearing, a faint sound broke the silence...
Tick.
All of the hairs on the back of Luca’s neck stood on end.
“I’ve had enough,” he called out. “I think we should get out of here.”
“Ha! I knew you’d say that,” replied Jack, wandering farther down the passage.
Luca had a sandstorm swirling in his throat. Desperately, he swallowed, trying to wash
away the dryness, and dithered in the centre of the passage. Every second that he hesitated,
Jack edged farther away from him.

Summarise the differences between Jack and Luca.

 Tick.
With each horrendous noise, Luca’s breathing quickened.
Tick.
He was panting, now. Where was it coming from? Slowly, with dread filling him from toe
to tip, he turned his head to track the source of the noise.
Tick.
Jack’s story flashed through his head and Luca felt as if all the oxygen were being sucked
out of him.
TICK.
Then, his heart in his mouth, Luca’s eyes fell upon an explanation...

How many suspenseful writing techniques can you see?

The high window that he had noticed earlier was being accosted by a long branch, which
was being thrown around rhythmically in the breeze. He watched, matching the ticking
sound to the thin fingers of wood swaying and connecting with the murky glass.
Tapping, not ticking.
Luca breathed again.
“Hang on!” he pleaded with Jack.
While Luca had been standing listening, Jack had continued to explore. Luca shook creepy
thoughts from his mind like a wet dog shaking itself dry after a swim. His stomach
grumbled rudely, making him wish that he were back home eating delicious spaghetti
bolognese and savouring the heavenly smell of fresh garlic bread. Instead, he was still
surrounded by the stinking innards of Cogston House.

Find an example of a subordinate clause.

‘Jack said that the story probably wasn’t even true,’ Luca told himself. He followed in the
direction of his friend with a little less trepidation, heading farther along the hallway,
deeper into the house. Hoping that Jack hadn’t gone too far without him, he began to pick
up his own pace even more.
As the hallway bent into a corner and Luca’s walk broke into a trot, Jack loomed into view.
He was standing motionless and his body had tensed.
Luca rounded the corner and stopped abruptly. When he saw what Jack was looking at, the
bottom almost dropped out of his stomach.
Clocks.
Not just one, but a row of tall grandfather clocks, extending down the hallway as though
standing in a queue. Creeping up the corridor towards them was a wave of soft ticking
sounds.

Can you define ‘trepidation’ using the context to help you?

“Clocks!” Luca spluttered, taking a few steps backwards. “That’s it – I’m definitely out of
here.”
“Wait – look at this, though,” Jack responded.
Tick.
Luca was no longer in the mood for waiting or looking. Turning to the side, he began to
edge back the way he had come, round the staircase and towards the first hallway.
Tick.
He suddenly felt the urge to keep his eyes on everything: his friend, the staircase, the
darkness that felt like it was closing in on him. He didn’t dare look where he was going.
Tick.

What is the effect of the repeating ‘tick’ sentences?

Stepping crab-style along the dusty hallway, he scraped through crinkly leaves, which were
disintegrating under his feet. Considering his struggle to identify the quiet tapping of a
branch on the window moments ago, it was staggering how the crescendo of ticking was,
now, echoing loudly through his head.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
“Jack!”
Jack had stepped closer to one of the clocks. “This one has stopped,” he called out. “You’re
not going to believe what time it says...”
Luca didn’t need to be told. Something inside him was already screaming the time.
“...10:31.”

How does Luca already know the time on the clock face?
Jack was standing, transfixed, staring into the face of the huge grandfather clock. Still
backing away, Luca threw a glance up the staircase and then back towards Jack. His friend
was peering forward to scrutinise the clock. What was holding his attention? Why couldn’t
he just leave, like Luca was?
“Jack!”
“Yeah. Yeah…” Jack murmured. Mesmerised, he was reaching out a hand and placing it on
the front of the clock.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
Luca kept moving, his back against one wall and his eyes constantly scanning. Jack was
becoming more out of focus, blending into the encroaching darkness as Luca shuffled
noisily away.
“AAAAGH!”

What is a rhetorical question? Find an example in the text.

Something huge and solid had collided with Luca’s back. Cursing himself for not looking
where he was going, he spun round and grabbed hold of a heavy clock that had appeared
behind him. It was not in any danger of toppling but chimed and groaned at being
disturbed. As he clutched it with sweaty palms, he felt its weighty mechanism rocking
inside.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
He steadied himself and exhaled the breath that he hadn’t realised he’d been holding on to.
Turning back to face the corridor, he panted, “It’s OK. I’m OK, Jack.”
Jack did not respond.

Why do you think Jack has not responded?

Now, you can choose how the story ends.
Out to
Safety

How it ends, only you can decide…

Under the
Curse